Only in the absolute solitude of nature, does one find the silence and calmness necessary, to appreciate life, to evaluate love, to contemplate meaning, to rise to the occasion of living well.

Only in the absolute solitude of nature, have I ever found the occasion to observe my soul at rest. To feel its motion. To observe and interact with serendipity and contemplate the meaning of mind and man.

Although the philosophe had Rousseau in mind, still the maxim has wider utility.

What differentiates finding "one's inner self" from ending up as a crank? Without the vigorous discipline of other personalities, what prevents one from sinking into a hole of solipsism?

St. Anthony of the Desert was a crank, through-and through, but he had this redeeming feature: he subordinated his ego to his idea of God. This kept him from emulating the Kiwi -- a bird that flies in ever-decreasing concentric circles until it flies up its own anus and disappears with a "Pop!" Absent some sort of discipline it is a rare personality that won't disappear into analogous self-aborbtion.

What are these "truths" we expect to find while staring into the fireplace on cold winter nights after living alone for weeks and months on end? Isn't there an inevitable progression from intense self-analysis to unearned reverie? I'll bet that the only real insight to emerge from this sort of navel-gazing is "I should have chopped more wood."

Interaction with others can breed such virtues as humility, mercy and patience (along with anger, hurt and frustration.) These are not "truths" -- they transcend "Truth" and become Reality the way that Justice transcends Law.

I beg to disagree. When the author talks about understanding the "nuances of our tectonics", it is an effect similar to what one gets from meditation, an understanding of one's place in the overall scheme of things that is not derived from analytical thought. Meditation and solitude is not about further analysis in isolation from others.